Sean Connery

The Wind and the Lion (1975)

The Wind and the Lion (1975)

(On Cable TV, November 2020) A tale of a president and an outlaw, The Wind and the Lion is unconventional—an adventure story about the rescue of a western woman from the Moroccan rebel who kidnapped her, but also a character portrait of that cultured rebel (played by Sean Connery) but also, half a world away, of Teddy Roosevelt in his eccentric glory, as the kidnapping hopes to upset geopolitics. Clearly a passion project from writer-director John Milius, this adaptation of the 1904 Perdicaris affair is deeply unconventional and, at times, a bit messy. My interest varied from scene to scene—while Connery is his usual compelling self, his storyline is often far too lengthy to be wholly interesting. Meanwhile, I couldn’t get enough of Brian Keith’s brilliantly oddball Theodore Roosevelt as he lives and reacts to the developing situation: much of his behaviour is of public records, but it’s fun to see it portrayed on-screen. The reconstitution benefits from a decent budget, and the film does have a few marquee sequences—perhaps most interesting being a scene in which troops march down the streets of Tangiers and intervene in the conflict in a rather surprising fashion. Still, the result feels quite uneven, with high highs and dull lows. The Wind and the Lion is more interesting than usual, but not necessarily successful.

The Anderson Tapes (1971)

The Anderson Tapes (1971)

(On Cable TV, September 2020) At its core, The Anderson Tapes can be summarized as a heist film—during the course of the story, an ex-con recruits a team to plan a large-scale robbery of an upper-class Manhattan apartment adjacent to Central Park. It takes us through the conception, the planning, the execution of the robbery, as well as its bloody aftermath. But as the computer-fond opening credits title font suggests, there’s a whole new wrapping around this noirish kind of plot: The presence of surveillance cameras, TV screens, computers and consumer electronics. Throughout the film (supported by beepeetee-doo computer noises), our protagonists are watched, recorded and itemized by various law enforcement and surveillance outfits. The Anderson Tapes’ big irony, of course, is that none of this surveillance actually works to prevent the robbery—each unit being concentrated on their own purposes, they completely miss the pieces being assembled in front of their eyes. Ultimately, it’s not surveillance that defeats the robbers but a ham radio and the power of concerted citizens half a world away. In the hand of directory Sidney Lumet, this proto-technothriller adapted from the Lawrence Sanders novel also offers plenty of touches that round out a suspense film: laughs, chills, thrills and action are dolled out in careful fashion, with surprisingly strong character work (including a very funny turn by veteran actress Judith Lowry) and a dependably likable turn by Sean Connery as the lead. The other big casting surprise here is a tall but very young-looking Christopher Walken in his first film role. What was a solid film upon release is now greatly enhanced for modern viewers by seeing then-primitive but scary technology being lavished with attention, and well-observed details to make it all credible. In that, The Anderson Tapes is clearly from the same director who later did Dog Day Afternoon and similarly raised a generic premise into something far more interesting.

The Hill (1965)

The Hill (1965)

(On Cable TV, May 2020) Now here’s something as merciless as it’s interesting—a WW2 film in which the heroes are British soldiers and the villain is… the British Army. Taking place at a military prison camp in which punishment is delivered to break the prisoners, The Hill is a film that goes against undeserved authority, against military leadership, against the idea that armies are all perfectly aligned against the enemy. Sean Connery stars as one of five new prisoners introduced to the titular Hill—a massive stack of rock and sand used to torture prisoners under the blazing Saharan sun. Our protagonist can’t stand the abuse inflicted by the camp’s leader, but fighting back is tricky in a military context. It’s all crisply directed by Sidney Lumet, who ably portrays the unrelenting heat and the claustrophobia of having nowhere to go. The opening cleanly establishes the area, and the ending is substantially bleaker than expected. Connery is very, very good here, consciously shedding his James Bond image in an attempt to avoid typecasting. Be sure to turn on the subtitles, as some of the dialogue is difficult to hear. More a prison film than a war movie, The Hill is nonetheless a successful drama.

Robin and Marian (1976)

Robin and Marian (1976)

(On Cable TV, January 2020) There is a strong streak of melancholy running through Robin and Marian, a story about the last days of Robin Hood and Maid Marian. A romantic drama blended with a bit of medieval thrills, it’s a film about heroic icons aging into legend—he is back from a punishing crusade; she is now a nun. It’s also, perhaps more significantly for film buffs, a strange and intriguing paring between two screen legends: Sean Connery and Audrey Hepburn (in her first film in nine years). Connery looks like himself with the graying beard, but there’s something truly uncanny in seeing Hepburn with curly hair (and I say this as someone who usually finds nothing wrong at all with curly hair). But none of it is as surprising as a tragic climax that ties in merciful death for nearly everyone—this is meant as romantic tragedy, capping one last passionate moment between two characters that never made it work. As such, it does feel like the kind of film that could only be made in the New Hollywood era—a film that takes a chainsaw to a myth with one final tragic story. I didn’t like Robin and Marian all that much—but I have to admire its audacity.

Dragonheart (1996)

Dragonheart (1996)

(Second Viewing, On TV, January 2020) I first saw Dragonheart in theatres on its opening weekend, and twenty-five years later, this is clearly a different time for movies. Most strikingly, circa-2020 viewers have been blessed by a long list of very convincing CGI characters over the past two decades… no wonder if this early-CGI creation feels creaky. But Dragonheart was a pioneer in that space, and the thrill of seeing an ILM-created dragon emote and speak with Sean Connery’s voice back in 1996 has inevitably abated in 2020. Still, there’s a bit more to Dragonheart than a talking CGI dragon, and the film does manage to establish itself as an average medieval fantastic adventure. Under Rob Cohen’s direction, it does suffer a bit from less-than-convincing battle sequences (clearly, the money went to the CGI dragon), but redeems itself through acceptable comic sequences (including a prolonged standoff between a knight and a dragon) and a sombre finale. While I’d watch Dina Meyer wearing red curls in nearly anything, the film does belong to Dennis Quaid as a knight who’s not above a bit of film-flammery, with some assistance from David Thewlis and Pete Postlethwaite. While Dragonheart doesn’t quite have what it takes to be a good or great movie (it’s a mis-mash of high and low material, especially at the script level—the film’s production history is a horror show of dramatically lowered ambitions and the studio/director is probably to blame) but I can understand its cult popularity even now.

The Name of the Rose (1986)

The Name of the Rose (1986)

(On DVD, September 2019) It’s been decades since I’ve read Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose and I certainly didn’t understand much of it at the time—it’s the kind of novel with so much depth that it obscures its own narrative strengths through an excess of detail. Fortunately, writer-director Jean-Jacques Annaud’s film adaptation wisely knows what to keep and what to simplify. The result is a surprisingly engaging story of murder, inquisition, books, sex, and hidden labyrinths set in a fourteenth-century monastery … featuring a medieval version of Sherlock Holmes. Sean Connery is splendid as the protagonist, a contemporary mind stuck in the dark ages, whose gravelly wisdom only breaks into giddiness within a library. (Ah, a character after my own heart!)  A still-impressive support cast rounds The Name of the Rose, with Michael Lonsdale and F. Murray Abraham being their usual selves, and early but substantial roles for both Christian Slater and Ron Perlman. Still, it’s the plot that takes centre stage, what with a murder investigation conducted very much against the leaders of the abbey, and a merciless inquisitor taking matters in his own hands. It’s a heady mixture, and the film never gets any better than when the characters break into a hidden library broken up in a maze. Annaud may have stripped much of the extraneous meta-semiotic material, but enough cleverness remains to make The Name of the Rose a superior thriller—more ambitious, decidedly more atmospheric and certainly more interesting than most.

First Knight (1995)

First Knight (1995)

(In French, On TV, November 2018) I’m not sure I completely accept Richard Gere as dashing young knight Lancelot trying to win over the queen (Julia Ormond) from King Arthur (Sean Connery). But that’s First Knight for you. The film makes a big deal out of the 35-year age difference between Ormond and Connery, but not so much of the 16-year difference between Gere and Ormond. (But that’s been Hollywood’s idea of an acceptable age range ever since the first movie moguls hit their mid-thirties.) More significant is the film’s overall lack of energy or reason to care: It’s, by design, an unsatisfying premise—who dares have Richard Gere best Sean Connery!?—and the limp execution from Jerry Zucker (better known for comedies) doesn’t do much to help. Even the high points, such as a ridiculously convoluted obstacle course, don’t quite manage to make the film come alive. The treatment of the Arthurian myth is realistic, but for a hollywoodian ideal of realism that seems like an uncomfortable compromise. I probably would have liked the film if I actually cared more about reinterpreting the Arthurian myth … but I don’t. First Knight is also severely harmed by the mid-1990s wave of far better historical movies set around the British Isles, along the lines of Braveheart or (better yet) Rob Roy. The result is not terrible, but neither is it particularly good. Maybe worth a watch for fans of Connery, Ormond or Gere even if their casting is sometimes dubious.

A Bridge Too Far (1977)

A Bridge Too Far (1977)

(On Cable TV, November 2018) Watching A Bridge Too Far, I was struck at how closely the film initially seemed to follow the template of The Longest Day: A lengthy WW2 drama covering both sides of the war, with a lavish re-creation of the fighting and an ensemble cast of superstars including Sean Connery, adapted from a non-fiction book by Cornelius Ryan. But the comparisons only go so far, especially as the movie advances and the military operation goes sour. It’s certainly worth noting that a significant cultural shift happened in-between 1964’s The Longest Day and 1977’s A Bridge Too Far: The Vietnam War did much to affect the public perception of war and audiences having digested MASH and Catch-22 and Kelly’s Heroes in 1970 alone were far more willing to embrace a film about an unsuccessful operation. (Even A Bridge Too Far’s opening narration is a bit off-kilter, suggesting a level of built-in cynicism that would have been unheard of fifteen years earlier.) While there are plenty of enjoyable wartime heroics in A Bridge Too Far, mistakes in planning, insufficient intelligence, bad communications and plain old happenstance all contribute to a costly failure. Still, if the events described by the film may be frustrating to watch, the film itself is entertaining enough. The historical re-creation of the massive airdrops is impressive, the massive explosions are numerous and the sheer number of recognizable actors is also notable. Connery gets a great character to play, but there are equally interesting moments for Michael Caine, Robert Redford, Gene Hackman and even Anthony Hopkins in a very early role. The film does not describe a particularly glorious moment for the allied forces, but that may add to the sense of discovery while watching it—I’m a modest WW2 buff thanks to having read many histories of the era as a teenager, but I had either not learned or forgotten much of Operation Garden Market until A Bridge Too Far refreshed my mind. It’s quite a spectacle, and it’s not quite as well-known as other WW2 movies. In any case, it’s worth a watch if the subject matter interests you.

Never Say Never Again (1983)

Never Say Never Again (1983)

(Second viewing, On DVD, October 2018) There aren’t that many good creative reasons for Never Say Never Again to exist. It’s a movie that owes its existence to a rift between the original James Bond movie creators, resulting in the rights to the Thunderball story and Spectre as a plot element being given to someone other than Eon Productions. Money is a powerful motivator, and so we ended up with a legal James Bond movie not made by the usual Bond people, but somehow starring Sean Connery in one last go at the character, graying temples and all. The story itself is a blatant remake of Thunderball, not only with stolen nuclear weapons being used as a plot driver, but with similar narrative stops at a health clinic and fancy yacht, not to mention similar character names. While the film’s pacing sharply improves upon Thunderball-era Bond, most of the “updates” affirm the early-eighties origins of the film more than anything else—there’s a particularly funny sequence involving Bond battling it out with the villain not on the casino table, but in a video game with deadly controls. That part really hasn’t aged well. But what did age well is Connery himself—there’s a real treat in seeing him, obviously older, taking up the character once more. Speaking of aging well, it’s also fun to see Kim Basinger in an early role (sheer aerobics jumpsuit and all), but it’s a reminder that she looks just as fine today than back then—and she’s now a far better actress too. This being said, Barbara Carrera is often more striking than Basinger, with a villainess role that she embraces with a relish rarely seen from other Bond girls. Klaus Maria Brandauer is not bad as the film’s overall villain, and Rowan Atkinson shows up in a small bumbling role. While Bond’s sexual conquests are still dodgy, they do feel like a step up from the original Thunderball, and the film is notable for suggesting that Bond will live happily ever after in a committed relationship. It ends up being a decent swan song for Connery, far better than the ludicrous Diamonds are Forever. While Never Say Never Again is not part of the official Bond continuity (and probably won’t ever be, even if the film’s rights are now owned by MGM) it does fit in a Bond completist’s viewing order: It’s not a great Bond, maybe not even a good Bond, but it’s worth a look especially if you’re going through the entire series.

Time Bandits (1980)

Time Bandits (1980)

(On DVD, September 2018) I really expected Time Bandits to be more fun than it is—after all, it’s a Terry Gilliam production, a visually inventive kid’s-fantasy film that seems to have stuck a whole generation of viewers. (But not me the first time around—I was slightly too young.) Alas, and this is not really the film’s fault as much as the evolving industry standard, there has been an explosion of kids-fantasy movies since then, each showing new thrills, fancier special effects and more fluid directing. For all of the considerable creative efforts made in Time Bandits’ production, it definitely looks dated today—rigid directing constrained by special-effects requirements, with obvious soundstage backdrops and overdone acting. I did like quite a bit—the Lego pieces in the climactic sequence are fun, and there are some visually arresting sequences. Plus, hey, Sean Connery. Alas, the appeal of the film stayed limited, not quite strong enough from a story perspective to transcend its production limitations. Time Bandits fans should rest easy, though—I’m writing essentially the same review for all sorts of other kids-fantasy films of the early eighties, from Time Bandits to The Neverending Story to Erik the Viking. Time moves on, and for views without an initial attachment to the film at their moment of release, it can be an uphill climb to discover them today with all of their shortcomings.

The Longest Day (1962)

The Longest Day (1962)

(On Blu Ray, September 2018) I often complain about excessively long movies, but even at nearly three hours, I found The Longest Day riveting throughout. A meticulously detailed overview of the Allied landing in Normandy during World War II, this film takes a maximalist approach to the event: It features dozens of speaking roles in three languages, as it tries to explain what happened from the American, British, French and German perspective. Character development gets short thrift, but that doesn’t matter as much as you’d think if you consider the event as world-sweeping history featuring four nations. An all-star ensemble cast helps propel the story forward with some sympathy, as the personas of John Wayne, Richard Burton, Robert Mitchum, Sean Connery (in a very funny pre-Bond role), Sal Mineo and may others guide us through the war. The black-and-white cinematography is gorgeous, and hits anthology levels with a sweeping minutes-long uninterrupted shot of urban warfare. (There’s also a great camera movement early in the film that shows the beach landing and many of the 23,000 soldiers used during filming.) While Saving Private Ryan has eclipsed The Longest Day as the definitive portrayal of D-Day, this 1962 production remains important as a historical document in itself: Many cast and crew had been in Normandy twenty years later, to the point where some actors were portraying people close to them when it happened. (Richard Todd was offered his own role and ended up taking that of his then-superior officer, and ends up speaking “to himself” during the movie.) Visually, the movie remains spectacular even fifty-five years later, and it gets better the more early-1960s stars you can spot. (This also works for historical figures—Omar Bradley is instantly recognizable in a one-shot role.) It’s an exceptional tribute to the events of June 6, 1944, a thrilling adventure story and its relatively bloodless nature doesn’t undercut its portrayal of war as being hell where anyone can die at any time. It’s quite a rewarding film, and it’s even better when you can understand more than one of the three spoken languages.

Diamonds are Forever (1971)

Diamonds are Forever (1971)

(Second Viewing, On Blu Ray, September 2018) There’s the end of a James Bond era and the beginning of another in Diamonds are Forever. It would be the last of the Bond movies to focus on Spectre and Blofeld (due to rights issues, no less) until the 2010s, and also the last of the EON-sanctioned productions to feature Sean Connery. It also marks the first Bond to truly lean on the craziest possibilities of the Bond franchise: Far from the relatively grounded On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, here we are with satellite laser weapons, gymnast bodyguards, a moon rover chase, body doubles, a pair of camp gay assassins, a reclusive billionaire, circus intrigue and so on. Whew. It sounds like a lot, and indeed at times we wish for the film to calm down a little bit. The result is firmly in the tongue-in-cheek Bond formula phase that would be so firmly exemplified by Roger Moore’s tenure. This being said, Connery’s return to the role is welcome even if the film isn’t as good as his other ones—he’s visibly older than in previous films, and the added touch of gray and world-weariness suits him well. Lana Wood makes for an intriguing Bond Girl, although her role becomes less and less interesting as the film advances. Indeed, there is a sense of missed opportunities in Diamonds are Forever that is made worse by the deliberately silly tone—the first minute of the film is awesome as an angry 007 travels the world and brutalizes informants in the search for Blofeld, but this soon turns to mush with an unrelated smuggling plot and a limp return to Blofeld later during the film. There are plot holes and dumb character decisions everywhere, not helping the film’s credibility or impact in the slightest. Some of the action scenes do work well, though—the chase through Las Vegas has a uniquely American flavour that sticks out (although, after being immersed in the very British atmosphere of the Bond series for a few movies, it reminds us by contrast that American culture and way of life is really, really weird) and even if the car-on-two-wheels stunt makes no sense, it’s still remarkably fun to see. While clearly the worst Connery-era Bond (I abhor Mr. Wint and Mr. Kidd), I still have a bit of a fondness for Diamonds are Forever, largely because it’s closer in tone to the Moore movies through which I was introduced to Bond.

On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969)

On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969)

(Second viewing, On Blu Ray, September 2018) As far as Bond movies go, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service is a weird one. It has quite a bit running against it, but substantial assets as well. It’s the one that introduced snowy mountain fortresses (and subsequent downhill chase sequence) to the Bond lexicon. It’s the one that, at least until 2006’s Casino Royale, had the most character development for Bond, whether we wanted it or not. It’s the one that, even more than Thunderball, stepped up the frequency and intensity of the action sequences that became part of the Bond formula. It’s the one that stuck most closely to the original Fleming text, once again whether we wanted it or not. It’s the one with the best Blofeld, with Terry Savalas in fine form as an evil mastermind unafraid to take up guns and get down with the killing. It’s the one with the best direction of the early Bond movies (thanks to Peter R. Hunt), perhaps all the way to Skyfall—it’s sometimes visually interesting in its presentation, which is more than can be said for the unobtrusive style preferred by other Bond directors. It’s the one with the nice instrumental title tune that’s been remade so well by Propellerheads. On the other hand, it’s the one with the sucker-punch of a downer ending, the one that doesn’t quite fit with the rest of the movies. It’s the only one with George Lazenby as Bond—he’s not exactly a bad Bond, but he doesn’t have the je-ne-sais quoi that the best Bonds have: the suaveness of Connery, the debonairness of Moore, or the brute force of Craig. It’s the one that compounds a decent villain plot with an over-the-top brainwashing fillip that makes the entire thing feel silly. It’s the one with the cutest early Bond Girl (Diana Riggs) but also the most mystifying, popping up at random intervals doing things solely to help move the plot forward. It’s the one that messes with the film formula, not quite going for the gadgets and not quite respecting how M and Moneypenny are best used. Some are fond of praising this film over the others and I can certainly see their point, but the truth is that On Her Majesty’s Secret Service is distinguished because it stands alongside the other Bond movies—I’m not sure it would have done as well as a purely standalone film. It does feel a bit long at times, and rather arbitrary in far too many respects—the opening sequence alone piles up the coincidences to an untenable height. Even though this isn’t the most popular Bond movie, you can see its influence on later films of the series and most clearly on the Craig cycle—Skyfall was just as upsetting in the way it played with the formula, and the lesson here is that you get to do these off-Bonds once every generation. My take is that On Her Majesty’s Secret Service is just as good a Bond as the others … but it cannot be evaluated along the same criteria as the ones immediately preceding and following it.

You Only Live Twice (1967)

You Only Live Twice (1967)

(Second viewing, On Blu-ray, September 2018) Bond goes to mid-sixties Japan in this fifth instalment (after a three-year break), and the film soon becomes one extended Orientalism riff. To be fair, Japan was considerably more exotic to Western audiences fifty years ago and the film wisely avoids much of the truly regrettable stuff. (Which isn’t to say that watching Bond doing in-universe yellowface isn’t mystifying, or that there isn’t a laugh or two in seeing the film laboriously explain what is a ninja.) The sexism is worse than the racism, but again there’s some slack to be cut given that the movie is fifty years old. Once you get past those problems, You Only Live Twice remains a strong Connery-era entry by codifying two of the series’ most defining icons: showing the scarred-face cat-petting villain Blofeld (later becoming Austin Powers’ Doctor Evil) and setting the climax in an underground lair in an extinct volcano. Add some spiffy space-age plot, a travelogue through then-mysterious Japan and you’ve got the making of a classic-formula Bond. (The script is from no less than Roald Dahl—and if you think that’s weird, check out who wrote the script for Chitty Chitty Bang Bang—who famously complained about the instructions he had been given regarding the number and nature of Bond Girls.) Bond doesn’t spend a single moment in England, but M and Q and Moneypenny all show up a few times to keep him on the right track. The special effects are ambitious and flawed, but the spirit of the sequences they serve is there. All things considered, You Only Live Twice remains a slight improvement over Thunderball. I first saw this film as a boy and remained mystified for a long time about the opening sequence and How could Bond actually come back from the dead?!?. The best thing about a jaded middle-age re-watch is that it now makes perfect sense that they faked his death, even if the specifics of the scene seem elusive.

Thunderball (1965)

Thunderball (1965)

(Second viewing, On Blu Ray, September 2018) By the time its fourth instalment came around (a remarkably short four years after its debut), the James Bond series had it all: a well-honed formula, a rapt audience and a star coasting on pure charisma. This may explain why, after the early highs of Goldfinger, its follow-up Thunderball can feel just a notch less interesting. Much of the elements are firmly in place: exotic locales (although recycling some of the Dr. No scenery), memorable Bond Girl Domino, even more memorable antagonist Largo, one of the biggest Bond Gadgets in the Disco Volante yacht that sheds its rear end to become a hydrofoil, and a big nuclear-driven plot. (Oh, and an unforgettable Tom Jones song.) Alas, much of the film is messier than needed: The opening segment set in a health clinic has a confusing game between Bond and prey (and a distasteful example of coerced seduction), many of the underwater scenes feel longer than needed, and some of the ambitious special effects don’t sustain contemporary scrutiny. Still, much of the fun of the classic Bond era remains. Sean Connery may be overfamiliar with the role by this fourth outing in four years, but he does remain as cool as the character has even been. Q is back with a few gadgets, we get a glimpse inside Spectre’s boardroom, but the one great scene in the film is one where the femme fatale explains in some detail that Bond will not turn her to the light side through his seductive powers. Otherwise, after three films where the Bond formula gets formalized, this is a film that feels more on autopilot than the others, even if the execution, with its numerous underwater sequences, feels as maximalist as it was possible at the time. It’s still good fun, and it’s going to be interesting to revisit its remake Never Say Never Again so shortly after seeing Thunderball.